The Ones Who Live Inbetween

1

The earliest memory I have is of distorted light and muffled screams. I remember an auburn flag waving in the wind like spun copper. I remember warmth followed by the deepest cold. Those were from the before days. The days before I was here. Here. Here. Under the trees. Here. Here. Hide from the breeze. I wonder how many people have seen trees growing underground. Probably not many. And where does the light come from within this box of stone and death? I'm not sure but I am aware that I can see perfectly. There is no sunlight here nor fire. Those things are only memories, concepts I struggle to imagine. Maybe this place is lit by the flames of my memories. Maybe it isn't. I run a hand across the wall next to me. I expect it to be rough and cool, maybe even damp from the drip of unseen moisture, but I don't feel that. I don't feel anything because the wall isn't there at all. Or maybe it's me that's not real. Am I trapped by a box or is the box trapped by me?

In the corner of the room- because it is a room now- I can see a pale egg. The egg is the world. But why is it here? Why is the world-egg sitting in the corner of my room? I guess the world is trapped too. Be careful, you might break it. What labouring, clumsy oaf endeavoured to bring it here? Shhh. The walls are moving again. Before me the dark stone ripples and undulates until it is smooth and clear. Ah, so I am to observe this time. The wall is a mirror and the mirror is a wall. I'm trapped by my own reflection. I think I am young but I feel as if I have been here for a very long time. How young was I when I came to be here? I must have been very small when the gods took me. Yes, because I'm sure I remember crawling around in the dark. The room seemed much bigger then. My hands like small pink seashells, curled into fists as I dragged myself around the corners of the room.

The person in the mirror looks back at me. I'm not sure what I am. I'm not sure who I am either. Most of the time, my hair is black but it's rather inconsistent. Quite often I find that it has changed to red or gold or silver. Mostly it is black though. However, I have to wonder whether I look anything like my reflection at all. Who knows what lies the gods are feeding me.

Today my reflection has silver hair like spun moonlight and eyes like green moss. I raise a hand and wave. The person in the mirror perfectly imitates me. We tilt our heads and lock eyes. I stretch my body and reach upwards feeling the crackle and strain run through my body. My reflection blinks at me. The mirror me does not stretch itself. The mirror me merely lifts a thin arm and points at the world-egg. I sigh and ignore it. I have no interest in the happenings of a faraway place to which I may never go. Shut up. You're lying. She's right. I am lying. My reflection flickers and reappears with the twisted horns of a stag. The horned god. Who am I to disobey the dictates of a god? Hesitantly, I reach out to touch the world-egg. A tremor run through my body and the walls begin to morph themselves into a different world once more.

Around me lies the charred remains of a battle field. Broken spears and trees poke from the earth like the exposed ribcage of some great beast. The ground crunches and pricks at my bare feet. Bones. Bones twisted into obscure shapes like thorns and stars. My body feels burning hot and feverish yet still I shiver. This is a bad place. From behind me a ragged crow caws. The scent of death and laughter permeates the air. Somewhere a fire is burning. The sky is a blood stained sheet from which no presumptive sun dares shine. The only sound I can hear is a buzzing hum that attacks the ears. I am unable to move. All I can do is observe.

In the distance I can see a small figure. The field flickers like the crackling flames of burned hope and in that instant of time askew, the figure jumps forward. I can see her clearly now. She is naught but a child. You were a child once too. A point without significance, now hush. Her pale hair is almost iridescent in its lengthy shining waves. I feel that rainbows must look something like that. Her dress is a pink so pale it is almost white. The girl-child is skipping through this field, this ocean, of bones with a painted smile. As she skips closer I begin to hear a song. I think it is a children's lullaby but it is not quite right. It rings with an eerie familiarity. Drowned babies. I don't understand. Please be quiet. The girl stops skipping and picks up a skull. With the edge of her frilled dress she rubs the soot away from its cavities. Look deeper Stupid. She smiles looking deeply into the empty eye sockets, head tilted.

"Now, now. So silly. If you weren't so silly this wouldn't have happened. Look at you. Who's a pretty girl now?" she laughs, like tinkling bells and strokes the side of the skull. "That's right, it's me. Don't look at me like that. There's nothing you can do. You're dead."

With a careless flick of her dainty white wrist, the skull falls from her fingers to the earth. She laughs once more, the sound echoing through the empty field. Crack. I can't help but to flinch violently. With a sound like the crackle of lightning in the night, she stomps down on the skull. Over and over again she stamps her foot onto it until the remaining fragments of a person are nothing more than a pile of dust in a field of death and laughter.

"It must be almost teatime. Teatime, teatime, time for Inorog to have her tea."

With that, the small girl, iridescent mass of curls bouncing behind her, skips off into the distance humming happily. I fall to my knees. I'm not sure what I just witnessed but I do know that it hurts. Pain blossoms, the lily within my chest, burning and tearing into me with its noxious roots. My hands shake uncontrollably before me so I clench them into tight fists. A grim wind howls around me and pulls at my tangled hair. Away. Away. AWAY. I squeeze my eyes shut. Take me home. Take me back into the darkness. Stupid, open your eyes. No. If I do then I'm afraid I won't like what I see. That's not what you're really afraid of. Yes... I'm afraid I'll remember something. You can't hide from your past forever. Please don't talk to me...Your words... they hurt. The tendrils of the lily wrap themselves more tightly through my body. Take me back...Please...

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